


These Tangled Webs

by riwriting



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Character Death (K-2SO), In Which Cassian Was An Imperial Double Agent, Inspired By Early Rogue One Draft, Suicidal Ideation, The Romance Is Ambiguous, alternating present and past tense, cameos from the rest of the squad, original Imperial characters - Freeform, still basically follows the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 08:26:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15945551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riwriting/pseuds/riwriting
Summary: Joreth Sward never thought he'd betray the Empire, until one day he did.





	These Tangled Webs

Title: These Tangled Webs  
  
  
  
_The galaxy, Joreth Sward decides, has a strange love of irony. There had been many ways he'd envisioned his death over the years, yet he'd never considered this one. He knows, as he lies on the cold metal platform, that his time is nearly done. He feels his body both trying to shut down and fighting for one last breath. The end is as violent and painful as he expected. It is the reason that throws him.  
  
He is the last person anyone would suspect of high treason.  
  
If he could laugh, he would. As it is, he cannot be sure remaining conscious is still among his capabilities. He knows he lost that battle several times already. He remembers nothing since hearing his name – his _ rebel _name – shouted from above him and feeling the connection against the first beam. His body hurts in a way that suggests other beams broke his fall, breaking him in the process. He knows time has passed, though how much, he can't be certain.  
  
It would be easy to close his eyes, to stay here, to die. He wants to give in to the darkness that keeps trying to pull him back into its arms. The shadows are where he's always felt safest.   
_  
Every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget, I told myself it was for a cause that I believed in... A cause that was worth it... _  
  
A cause that had been a lie. A cause to which he sold his soul in exchange for some good feelings and pretty words. A cause that was going to destroy and kill again and again and again until everything was remade into its image, the way he had been.  
  
A cause that could still be stopped.   
  
He could not guarantee that the transmission was sent unless he saw it with his own eyes. Before he died, Joreth Sward needed to know he had done what he could to make it right. He needed to see it sent with his own eyes. It could not undo thirteen years of mistakes, but maybe it could undo this one thing. Maybe this one thing could push the galaxy off the path it was on to a better one, with the better future he'd thought he was working towards. It only took the smallest snowball to start an avalanche....  
  
His body protests as he grabs hold of the nearest cassette. He whispers to himself in a language long tucked away into the recesses of his mind that he is stronger than the pain, and somehow he believes it.   
  
And then Joreth Sward begins to climb.  
_  
~*~  
  
_This is an opportunity most children would die for, Joreth. You should take full advantage of it._ The orphanage director's words rang in his mind as he sat with the other newest cadets. He supposed he should feel self-conscious about his appearance – gangly, dirty, poor, with his scuffed boots and neat but very clearly second hand clothes – but he didn't care. Gangly, dirty, poor, orphan...he was still _here_. Joreth knew full well the sort of life he should have had as an orphan from a former Separatist world. The orphanage would turn him out on his fifteenth birthday. With no skills and a minimal education, his options would be limited at best. If he had been very lucky, he might have lived to see eighteen.  
  
Except, unlike his peers, Joreth Sward had Potential. He never knew what it was about him that said Potential to the people who mattered. He knew it had something to do with the special examinations the woman from the Imperial Education Ministry administered to him and the others. Everyone had been very excited about his examination results.   
  
Children from Fest – or from any formerly-Separatist world for that matter – did not often get the opportunity to study at the Empire's finest educational institutions. It was common knowledge that the number of spaces in the Imperial Academy system for those students was severely limited. It was also understood that those few spaces were reserved for only the best – and most financially influential – residents of those worlds.  
  
Except, somehow, Joreth Sward, the son of troublemakers who lived their lives so recklessly that they were dead before his seventh birthday, was offered one of the coveted slots.  
  
It was an honor and an opportunity. He would not waste it.  
  
He listened with rapt attention to the officer in the crisp gray-green uniform explain to the cadet-recruits that they had each been specially chosen to undertake the most important educational experience of their young lives, and that, if they worked hard enough, they could be very successful serving the Empire and its people. The Empire promoted peace, brought safety to its citizens, and worked for the betterment of their societies. The officer made it clear that there was no greater honor, and Joreth had to agree. Those things were not common on Fest. He wanted them to be.  
  
~*~  
  
Being summoned to the Administrator's office was commonly understood to mean trouble. For the life of him, Joreth could not figure out what he had done. In his two years at the Academy, he worked hard, kept his nose clean, and followed every order unquestioningly. He tried to be everything a good solider should be. He understood his marks to be strong in most disciplines. There were no disciplinary write-ups on his record. Yet as he stood at attention in front of the large oak desk and the sour faced Administrator, he knew – somehow – he had done something wrong.   
  
“At ease, Sward.” Administrator Perkyns glanced at him over the top of his datapad, then returned his eyes to the screen. His brows knit together and he took another look at Joreth, this one longer and more probing.   
  
It took everything in him not to react. He managed, though, to keep his face blank and his eyes forward, just as he had been taught. It was not his place to ask why he was here. If and when the Administrator decided to share that information, it would be shared. Until then, Joreth knew, he should wait.  
  
“I have your current transcript,” Perkyns slid a finger along the screen of his datapad. “You had a good term academically. Top five percent. Your scores in your more practical areas of study, however...well, it does not seem likely the Stormtrooper corps will be begging for you.”  
  
And that, Joreth knew, was the problem. Those cadets who were like him were not likely to be considered for officer training. He lacked connections, finances, or even the right homeworld. The better cadets in his situation ended up as Stormtroopers, but, while he was a decent shot, he was too short and too skinny to be a Stormtrooper, and his hand to hand combat skills needed work. He wondered if this would be the meeting where he was told to pack his things and go back to Fest. The thought made him nauseous. _Do not react...._   
  
“Tell me, Sward, have you read your pysch profile?” Perkyns set down his datapad.  
  
He had. It was hardly complimentary. From what Joreth understood of the large psychological words spewed about him, he was essentially a manipulative bastard. A very smart, manipulative bastard, but a manipulative bastard just the same. “I have sir. I'm working to correct the deficiencies.”  
  
“Well, stop that,” Perkyns remarked, “Because those self-perceived deficiencies coupled with your academics have made Intel start asking questions about you.” He produced a sheet of flimsy from a box on his desk and glanced at the top of it to ensure it was the right one. “They've requested an interview to see if you're worth a transfer into their training program. Looks like you'll be flying out tomorrow, 0500, to HQ.” He passed the flimsy across the desk.  
  
Joreth looked at the paper a long time. _Joreth Sward, Imperial Cadet Identification No. 79130281_ was printed across the top, followed by what appeared to be orders that he report for the interview. He didn't know a lot about Imperial Intelligence. He knew it was a fancy term for “spy work,” though what exactly that entailed was a bit of a mystery. He felt it was safe to say that it was not, in fact, anything like what was portrayed in the holovids. He doubted it would be the sort of changing the galaxy type of future he wanted. From the way Perkyns was looking at him, however, it was apparently an honor to be considered.  
  
“Your instructors have been informed you will not be in class,” Perkyns continued when Joreth did not speak. “I don't expect someone with your background to understand the intricacies of the military system, Sward, but this is one of those career defining moments. Perform well, and you could be headed for some big things.” The outcome that was associated with failure did not need to be mentioned.  
  
It was a moment where a response was required. Joreth wasn't sure what the proper response would be, so he went with one that he knew would work for most circumstances – he snapped to attention with a “Thank-you, sir.”  
  
He apparently aced the interview. A month later, he was ordered to pack his things and was informed his further education and training would be overseen by Imperial Intelligence.  
  
~*~  
  
He received his first serious assignment when he was just shy of seventeen. An anarchist cell was causing problems on an Outer Rim planet no one would care about if it didn't have valuable ore. Miners were being recruited to join their ranks and hit Imperial shipments. It would be useful to have someone on the inside, and Joreth Sward had shown promise playing the sort of person who would find himself working the mines with no better options.  
  
He was given the brief outline of a new identity – an angry young man originally from his own homeworld of Fest – and orders to report in every two weeks. His superiors always intended for the assignment to be a minor one, and thus gave him the training task of filling in the details for his own alias. After some time pulling bits and pieces from his own background and answering questions such as _who might I have become if the Empire had not shown mercy on me?_ he developed his cover identity.   
  
A week later, “Cassian Andor” found himself mining ore and listening carefully to the discussions occurring around him. Cassian, Joreth thought, was a bit of an idiot who blamed the Empire for the combination of bad luck and his own poor life decisions. He played the part accordingly.  
  
He must have played it well. A month later, he was firmly entrenched in the cell. They were as unsophisticated as he assumed they would be. The anarchists had more anger than sense, and they went through members at a surprisingly fast rate. They all talked about hatred for the Empire, but a few fanatics began talking about the fight as a 'cause.' Those, Joreth understood, were the ones who could be dangerous. Once people started believing in 'causes,' they could become unpredictable.  
  
It had not been an easy assignment. There were things that he'd been instructed on that he hadn't been able to appreciate until in the field. The first time he had to stand aside and watch as good people in service to the Empire died at the hands of terrible people lurking in shadows, he'd barely made it back to his room before emptying the contents of his stomach. He'd repeated his instructors' words in his head over and over, but found _“you cannot intervene. They cannot know they have been compromised”_ to lack much power to sooth his nerves or conscience.  
  
The first time he had to be the one to pull the trigger was a thousand times worse.  
  
These were not the lessons that could be learned from books.  
  
He wasn't sure if what he was doing was helping or not. There was little feedback from his superiors, despite his diligent, timely reports on everything he learned.   
  
At a particularly low point, six months into his assignment, Joreth wondered if he was failing. He sat quietly in one of the run down bars the miners frequented after their shifts let out, and listened as one of his fellow anarchists whined about the latest supposed slight from the Empire. He only half paid attention, his mind whirling as he tried to determine if the order was on its way to pull him out. The original plan was to keep him under for a few months unless something useful happened. Joreth couldn't identify anything particularly useful he'd learned. He didn't know what he would say to his superiors about the mission. How, he wondered, did you know if an intelligence mission was worth a kriff?  
  
“Andor?”  
  
He lifted his eyes to look at the tall man with red hair who had taken up the seat next to him. Joreth remembered seeing him at some of the meetings. He wasn't a miner – he worked at one of the cantinas. He was angry, like all of them, but more calculating than the average anarchist. It was something about the eyes.... It took him a moment to remember the name. Joreth nodded at the man, “Sveto.”  
  
Sveto studied him a moment before his eyes shifted to where another person was listing their grievances with the Empire. The intense eyes returned to him. “Do you want to make a real difference?”  
  
“I thought,” Joreth said carefully, “That's why we are all here.”  
  
Sveto let out a little snorted breath. “They want to cause trouble.” He said softly. “But I think you want more than that. If I'm right, and you're interested, I'll be having a smoke behind the fire house at the end of the street for the next thirty minutes.”  
  
Joreth waited ten minutes before following the man from the bar. By the end of the night, Cassian Andor had become Davits Draven's newest recruit.  
  
The mission was more of a success than anyone could have dreamed. He was, however, stuck with _Cassian Andor_. Joreth promised himself that, in the future, he'd come up with a less obnoxious cover identity.  
  
That opportunity never presented itself.  
  
~*~  
  
Climb. _Kay's order rings in his mind as he continues to put one hand over the other.  
  
K-2SO never knew the truth, Joreth reflects as he pulls himself another six inches up the tower. He always believed he was reprogrammed by Cassian Andor, intentionally given free will, and chose to stay with the Alliance and the man who saved him. Joreth wonders what Kay would have thought if he'd known the truth: that he was given free will by accident when Joreth was attempting much more minor code changes than those that actually occurred.  
  
He had known at the time that he'd made a terrible mistake, but rationalized it away as "_ necessary for my cover _." Cassian Andor was supposed to be a self-taught programming genius. Successfully reprogramming a security droid in a way that hadn't been done before only underscored the story and gave him credibility with Draven. There were even times Joreth told himself that Kay –_ K-2SO _– was a reminder of how good things could be twisted to serve the worst bits of society.  
  
Even if it was Kay who carried him to a safehouse when he was bleeding out and ensured his survival.  
  
Even if it was Kay who had his back every time a mission went sideways.  
  
Even if it was Kay who gently took the blaster from his hands on Jenoport.  
  
He doesn't regret giving Kay free will. He should. A seven foot security droid with a mind of its own is not something anyone wants to drop into a mission as an unknown variable. Kay, however, had been fiercely loyal to and protective of Cassian. Kay remained that way until the last of his processes whirled to a stop to protect Cassian. Kay chose to die for Cassian.  
  
Cassian, Joreth knows, is a much luckier man than Joreth Sward has ever been. Cassian had known friendship. Joreth has not._  
  
~*~  
  
Meetings with superior officers were rare when he was undercover. Meetings with important higher ups were unheard of, especially when those people were willing to meet him on a hell hole like Kafrene. Joreth tried to ignore how out of place he felt wearing Alliance field fatigue trousers and a leather jacket that had seen better days while standing in front of one of Governor Tarkin's top aids.  
  
“The governor,” Raxon was saying, “Found your last report to be quite interesting.”  
  
The DS-1. Of course. Joreth wasn't sure how involved Tarkin was in the endeavor, but it was his impression that this was the governor's pet project. That the rebels had discovered it too soon was extremely problematic.   
  
There was a long pause before Raxon asked, “The Alliance really found Galen Erso's child?”   
  
It was only the years of training and living under cover that kept him from reacting. _Why_ would some terrorist-turned-petty-criminal have any importance to Governor Tarkin? From what he had seen, the girl was among the worst dregs of society – a greedy, selfish thing that did not hesitate to harm anyone and anything that kept her from getting her hands on what she wanted. And what she wanted were things like weapons, ammunition, ships.... Raxon hadn't asked him for his opinion of Jyn Erso, though. He'd asked if the Alliance found her. Joreth answered the question posed. “They have.”  
  
Raxon snorted. “Takes a bunch of terrorists with no resources a month to do what Orson Krennic can't accomplish in fifteen years.”  
  
His opinion was once again not called for. He once again kept his mouth shut.  
  
“I take it they plan to use her as a hostage.” Raxon theorized. “Offer Erso an exchange.”  
  
“No. Erso's already turned. He's sending messages to Saw Gerrera through a defected shuttle pilot. I'm still trying to confirm the identity of the pilot, but he was assigned the Jedha run. Should be easy to look at the logs and see who is AWOL.” Joreth clasped his hands behind his back. “ _I_ orchestrated the Alliance's sudden interest in freeing Jyn Erso from Wobani.”  
  
The silence was deafening. Raxon's eyes raked over him as if trying to find some sort of sign that said _I am trying to harm our great and glorious Empire_. Finally, he cleared his throat. “And why is that?”  
  
“My orders were to disrupt their investigation into the DS-1.” Joreth replied evenly. “I've tried everything else. Misdirection, sabotage...I just killed one of their informants to ensure everything he knows doesn't end up with Davits Draven by this time tomorrow. It hasn't worked. They need a distraction, something to derail their investigation until we're ready to unveil the station.”   
  
“And this girl?”  
  
“She's an uncontrollable criminal who is guaranteed to cause the sort of headaches that will drag out any investigation,” Joreth replied. “I've come up with a story to sell them where they have to first get the girl, then find Gerrera. If we learn more about the pilot or Erso in the process, it's a bonus, but I doubt it will get that far. All I need is for her to cause additional problems and delays, and someone like that? She'll deliver. Just a glance at her dossier confirms that.”  
  
“And where _did_ the Alliance find all that?” Raxon interrupted.  
  
“I don't think it's a matter of them being superior,” Joreth said, “But more a matter of Director Krennic not assigning the right people to his task.”  
  
It was the correct answer. Raxon nodded in agreement. “So you plan on dropping an unpredictable, violent woman in the midst of things and letting her stir up problems that will keep the Alliance occupied.”  
  
“It would never work long term, but we only need to buy a few weeks. The organization is already in shambles. They don't have the capacity to agree long enough to solve problems. A little more time, and you'll have the card that makes them walk away from the game.” And while Joreth knew they'd never use the thing on an inhabited world, blowing up a few chunks of barren rock would strike enough fear into the traitors to put down the Rebellion once and for all. Hopefully, it would all be over soon and people could get the opportunity to live safe, peaceful lives.  
  
Raxon nodded. “And your informant's knowledge?”  
  
“I'll have to give Draven something. I was planning to tell him that there are rumors of some sort of weapon related to Galen Erso,” Joreth offered, “And then strongly encourage the plan to bring in Jyn Erso.”  
  
Raxon continued to nod, as if this all was exactly what he wanted. Joreth suspected the man would take credit for everything if it worked, and pretend to know nothing of it if things fell apart. He knew other men would bristle under that knowledge, but found he didn't much care what Raxon or Tarkin did. What mattered was that the Empire succeeded, not whether he found any personal glory. “When everything is over,” Raxon said, “Bring the Erso girl in.”   
  
“Of course, sir.” She would return to Wobani and finish her sentence. More likely, she would die there, but that was a consequence of her choices. Joreth didn't feel sorry for her.  
  
“To us.” Raxon elaborated, “Not to Wobani. If she was of use to Krennic, we're going to want to see if she's of any use to us.”  
  
“I suspect Krennic wanted to use her as a bargaining chip to insure her father's good behavior,” Joreth opined. He couldn't see any other use for something like Jyn Erso. “I understand he defected before.”  
  
“He did. He isn't worth all the trouble, either. Man's brilliant, but we have plenty of brilliant scientists in the Empire. Why Krennic insisted on this one....well, it's all a waste of time.” Raxon paused. “Still, just to be safe, bring her in. Varn will make sure she's useless before sending her back to Wobani.”  
  
He almost felt bad for Jyn Erso for that one. Almost. It was not, however, his fault that she had elected not to be an upstanding citizen and supporter of Emperor Palpatine. She probably deserved the conversation with Varn.  
  
Probably.  
  
He told himself not to think about it.  
  
~*~  
  
Jyn Erso was the rare delinquent who completely lived up to Joreth's expectations. There were no surprises, no unforeseen complications. She was exactly what he thought she would be. A woman who couldn't control her violent tendencies long enough to be rescued, who thought it was a good idea to attack her rescuers with blunt objects, and who needed a security droid to be kept in line.   
  
She was exactly what he needed to disrupt the Rebellion's little operation long enough for his superiors to roll out the DS-1.   
  
“You're gonna wanna keep the binders on that one,” one of the infantrymen remarked as they watched Melshi lead the criminal being across the hanger.  
  
“Oh?” Joreth tried to catalog her movements, see if there was a weakness in how she moved in case she became too much trouble.  
  
“She got Melshi good,” the infantryman said. “You know if your droid wasn't there? She'd likely have gotten away.”  
__  
Because freezing to death in that wasteland would be a smart life decision_._ At least she wasn't calculating. That shouldn't surprise him, though. The calculating ones, the ones that were __good__ at crime, didn't find themselves in Imperial custody all that often. The few who did were only there because they finally made a mistake or someone sold them out. Criminals like Jyn Erso? Every move was a mistake. “We have no plans to remove the binders.” He nodded once at the infantryman and added an, “Excuse me,” before letting himself disappear into the maze of the ziggurat.   
  
~*~  
  
It was impossible to miss that K-2SO was extremely concerned about the safety of Cassian Andor. Joreth wondered not for the first time how he could have messed up the programming on the droid _that much_. K-2SO, however, genuinely cared about Cassian Andor. He was also genuinely concerned that Jyn Erso might try to hurt his master.   
  
“It is not too late to take the blaster from her,” the droid noted as the starlines filled the viewport.  
  
“Leave it,” he ordered, leaning back in his seat and letting some of the tension bleed from his shoulders.  
  
“I can overpower her.” K-2SO continued. “It is not hard. She is very small.”  
  
Joreth resisted the urge to rub at his temples. He knew K-2SO was trying to be helpful. He knew this was the droid's way of saying he cared about his master's well being. Of course, that was part of the problem. Droids were not supposed to care. They were machines. They were supposed to simply do whatever it was their owners programmed them to do. They weren't supposed to think for themselves, or ask questions, or have an emotional stake in what happened to their masters. He still couldn't figure out _how_ K-2SO even had emotions, but he had long ago given up trying to rationalize it away and accepted that K-2SO did.  
  
He was, Joreth decided, absolutely terrible at programming droids. He couldn't have messed up further if he tried.  
  
“Are you certain you do not want to know the likelihood of her shooting you?” K-2SO continued helpfully.  
  
“I understand it's high,” he remarked dryly.  
  
“It's very high,” K-2SO corrected. “Cassian, this woman is a criminal. She does not care about you or the cause.”  
  
Another of his recurring thoughts with regard to K-2SO wiggled its way into his mind. What would happen if K-2SO ever discovered he was not, in fact, Cassian Andor: Savior of Droids, but Joreth Sward: Imperial spy? Would K-2SO continue to be loyal to him, or would the droid turn on him faster than he could blink? He tried not to think about it, despite the fact that it was now rolling heavily through his mind. “It will be fine, Kay.”  
  
“What if it's not?” K-2SO asked.  
  
“Then I'll handle it,” he said firmly. Worst case scenario, he could probably convince Draven that Erso was still alive for a few days and buy some time. He'd need to find a way to rationalize it to the droid, but...he'd come up with something. If it came to that – _if_ – he'd come up with something.  
  
Joreth was aware that K-2SO was watching him silently. The ocular receptors glowed brightly in the partial dark of the cockpit. It was the sort of silence humans held between them when one wanted to ask a question that they weren't sure the other would appreciate. His far-too-human droid was doing the same thing. Joreth debated ignoring it, but he knew the machine would just keep staring at him until it had gotten a chance to speak its...mind? Circuits? “What is it, Kay?”  
  
“You do not like it when you have to 'handle' things,” the droid observed. “It makes you sad.”  
  
Yes, having to shoot good men to maintain his cover was hardly an enjoyable experience. Even if his superior officer signed off on every one of the hits – even if there were legitimate reasons the Empire wasn't fond of the marks either – they were still his people. He was still killing loyal servants of the Empire.  
  
Okay, they weren't exactly _loyal_ and they were mixed up in the sorts of things that sullied the name of the Emperor, but....  
  
He pushed the thoughts away. “Sometimes we have to do things we don't like for the greater good.” How many times had his instructors pounded that into his head? He'd lost count. He knew they were right, though. Knew it in his bones. It didn't make it any easier to line up the shot and pull the trigger, but...what mattered was the greater good, the preservation of the Empire, the safety of its people. If what he did brought that about, then he would do it.  
  
“I do not want you to be sad, Cassian.” The droid sounded so damn sincere about it.  
  
Joreth nodded. “Hopefully it won't come to that.” He glanced over his shoulder, “But for now, let her have the weapon. If she feels safe, she's less likely to do something foolish that could kill us all before we can finish this mission.”  
  
“If she is locked in binders,” K-2SO observed, “She is also less likely to do something that could kill us.”  
  
There were plenty of people he'd interacted with for whom that assessment was correct. He'd seen people like Jyn Erso before, too, and he knew desperation when he saw it. Desperate people, Joreth learned long ago, were willing to do absolutely insane things no normal person would consider. Putting Erso in chains would likely trigger the sort of reaction that would put his life in imminent danger. Letting her keep the blaster....  
  
He unbuckled his restraints and slid from the seat. It took all of three steps to reach the cargo area where he'd left the girl. She hadn't moved far and was now propped against a corner. She'd entwined one arm in some of the rigging so she wouldn't slide around. Her head was propped against the wall. Her eyes were closed, and Joreth could see the steady rise and fall of her chest. Asleep, then. The blaster lay in her lap, and both hands gripped it in a white knuckle grip. Asleep, he amended, but terrified.  
_  
How much of that fear,_ he asked himself, _Is because of me and how much of it is because of Gerrera?_ For a moment, he felt a tinge of pity for her. He quickly pushed it away. He'd learned long ago to shut out the distractions. To _not care_ about the people he had to interact with. After all, they chose their paths. They could have been upstanding Imperial citizens, but instead elected to be terrorists, criminals, and enemies of the Empire. They dedicated their lives to hurting good people who had done nothing wrong. It was his job – his duty – to stop them, to protect the people who were just trying to live their lives in peace.  
  
Maybe if he did, there would be children like him whose parents thought twice, who didn't get wrapped up in criminal enterprises, who came home and took care of their sons instead of....  
  
It was foolish to think about these things. He had a job to do. He needed to do it. He spun around and returned to the cockpit. “Everything's fine.”  
  
~*~  
  
_His fingers slip, slick with sweat and blood. He feels his body lurch backwards, even as his nails dig in for any purchase. To fall now, from here, is certain death, and Joreth scrambles for any hold. Everything feels both hopelessly slow and ridiculously fast as his body moves from the tower.  
  
And then his other hand latches around another tape. He yanks his weight forward. The pain that has been throbbing through him suddenly flares as he slams against the tower.  
  
But he is not dead. Not yet. Part of him knows that he likely won't make it to the top. One of his legs has more or less ceased working. His hands are shaking fiercely, and gripping things becomes harder and harder with each precious inch he manages to obtain. Lactic acid, pain, injury...it all mixes together to form an impossible combination.  
  
Joreth rests his head against the datatapes in front of him and feels his ragged breath rattle through his lungs. It would be easy to let go. Jyn is strong. She's long gone from the data vault. By now, she must have sent the signal to the rebel fleet. He has done what he could to find redemption, and even if he were to survive his injuries, there is no future for him.   
  
The Empire he served is a monstrous thing he cannot return to even if he wanted. He has thoroughly betrayed it to its enemies. Treason will be rewarded with a slow, agonizing death after all secrets are wrung from the traitor. There is, Joreth is certain, no greater traitor than him.  
  
The rebellion won't suffer him to live, either. He knows this just as surely as he knows he is somehow still alive. He has spent a decade stealing and laying bare their secrets. The people who ordered the death of an Imperial scientist who wished to help them will not think twice about killing the spy who lived among them. The only difference is that the rebellion will likely make his death quick, a blaster bolt to the skull.  
  
He has done what he could, Joreth repeats to himself as he looks down. The platform that saved his life is so far away now. It could be the thing that ends it now. He can let go, let this end on his terms. He tries to force his muscles to relax. His eyes flutter closed. All he has to do is let go....  
  
But he needs to know.  
  
The thought fills his lungs with the next gasp of air. He needs to know that the plans successfully slipped past the shield gate. He needs to know that the rebellion has them and is spiriting them away. He needs to know that no one else has to die the way those on Jedha did.  
  
His fingers tighten around the data tapes. He winces as his foot finds a perch and pushes him upward again._  
  
~*~  
  
Damnation hung in the silence. Jedha was....   
_  
They used it on an inhabited planet._  
  
The thought churned through his mind as he studiously avoided the gaze of the others and waited for clarification from Draven. That was what Cassian Andor would do. He needed to continue to be Cassian Andor. If these people knew who he really was....  
  
This wasn't supposed to happen. The DS-1 was never, _never_ , supposed to be used on a civilian world. He knew what it was supposed to be able to do, but it wasn't....it shouldn't have....it was for frightening the terrorists into laying down their weapons.  
_  
What is more frightening,_ his mind asked, _Than a weapon that can destroy inhabited worlds and a monster willing to fire it at one?_  
  
No. No, there had to be some mistake. Maybe the targeting computer was not configured and the DS-1 was supposed to be targeting another nearby, uninhabited rock.   
_  
Do you really believe they would have made a mistake like that?_  
  
Maybe there was some intel he missed. Maybe Jedha had declared war on the Empire.   
_  
You were on Jedha. Those people were being attacked by Gerrera's cell and were thankful the Empire sent a Star Destroyer and troops to protect them. You know that's not true._  
  
Joreth swallowed. Nothing in his training had prepared him for anything like this. Was there any way to prepare for something like this? Everything he'd known – everything he thought he'd known....  
  
“Baze,” a voice broke through the silence behind him, “Tell me. All of it? The whole city?”  
_  
More than the city_. The destruction killed the planet. There was still a hunk of rock there, but that's all it was. A hunk of rock. The people were....  
The Empire killed them.  
  
There had been no emergency that necessitated it. Yes, there was violence, but the troops that had been in the system were handling things. There had been no act of war declared. The people were loyal Imperial citizens. They were trying to live their lives, to make the best of their situations while trusting their Empire would help them. They wanted peace and safety and to raise their families and serve. Jedha was like any number of similarly situated worlds and moons. It was like Fest.  
  
And the Empire destroyed it.  
  
They were supposed to be __protecting__ the people. They were supposed to be helping them build lives, educating them, providing jobs. They were supposed to be keeping them safe from people like Gerrera, and....  
  
Part of his mind, the part that had spent years in loyal service, again repeated that he must not have seen what he saw. There was some sort of mistake. The Empire he knew would never, could never, do anything like this. They were bringing peace to the galaxy.  
  
Another part, the part that remembered his training, suggested that he must not understand. There was some sort of grand plan, some greater good that he was missing. It was not his place to ask questions. It was his place to follow his orders. The good of the galaxy depended on that.  
  
The part of his mind that he long ago buried, the part that was weak and foolish and _felt_ , whispered that he was in the service of evil.   
For the first time in years, Joreth found he did not have answers. The way forward had always been clear, but now....  
  
“Captain Andor?” A tinny voice came over the com.   
  
He forced his attention back to the conversation. Cassian Andor would follow-up with Draven, Joreth reminded himself. For his own safety, he had to at least continue to pretend to be Cassian Andor. “Yes.”  
  
“General Draven's orders are to proceed,” the voice reported.  
  
Proceed. Proceed.  
  
Proceed to Eadu.  
  
Proceed to kill Galen Erso.  
  
That, at least, was something he knew he could do. Both the Empire and the Alliance wanted Erso dead. It didn't matter what side he was on. There was no difference in that. It was something he could do. It was something he could control. He could proceed. “Understood.”  
  
~*~  
  
Jyn Erso was becoming problematic. Joreth plodded through the slick mud as rain continued to run across his face. Above him, the pilot called back about which way to go. He felt himself shrug and follow. He hadn't figured out what to do about Jyn yet. He supposed he could shoot her, dump her body here in one of the canyons. It wasn't as if there was anyone out there who cared what happened to her.  
  
Well, he amended as he adjusted the rifle strapped to his back, anyone other than the Guardians back on the ship and maybe the pilot. The pilot would be easy to handle. He might have considered Galen Erso a friend, but at the end of the day, he was the sort who didn't want trouble. At worst, the pilot might voice a word or two in protest, but Joreth could get him to fall in line. The Guardians, on the other hand, would be difficult to deal with. He'd have to be smart about it, then. However he'd handle it, he needed to do it in a way that would keep them from suspecting the truth.  
  
He paused to try to wipe the rainwater from his eyes. The movement somehow triggered an image of Jyn from the shuttle. Her demands to come along mixed with the expression that asked how long it would be until he let her down. He answered the Jyn in his mind by wordlessly asking how long it would take to find a location where he could have a clean shot. That's how long.  
_  
Keep going_. He forced his feet to move again. One step in front of the last. Right now, he had a job to do. He wasn't sure who he was doing it for. He wasn't sure if it mattered. The Empire wanted Galen Erso dead. The Rebels wanted Galen Erso dead. It was something Joreth could do – some sort of affirmative act he could take. It was even justified. Galen Erso, after all, killed Jedha.  
  
The problem was – the problem _really_ was – that there was a part of him that hated the idea of having to kill Jyn Erso. Galen deserved his fate. Joreth wasn't sure if it was because Galen was a traitor or because Galen built a planet killer, but he felt secure that Galen Erso deserved the judgment that awaited. It was the only thing he knew was right.   
  
Galen's daughter, however, would be a casualty because she would seek vengeance. But that was her choice, too, wasn't it? The fault had to lay with her if she forced his hand.  
  
Didn't it?  
  
Of course. Of course it did. It was just...Jyn was too compromised. She couldn't see what was really there.  
_  
And you?_ Well. He could try to sort that out later. Right now, he had a job to do. He needed to concentrate on staying alive long enough to do it.  
  
~*~  
  
He had the shot.  
  
Galen Erso finally stepped out from the others. There were no Imperial soldiers or engineers in the way.  
  
It was fitting, really. This was the man who killed Jedha.  
_  
He's been on Eadu. He built it, but he didn't tell them to fire it._  
  
Who had? An order like that had to come from high up the chain. Was Director Krennic high enough to make that call? Governor Tarkin? The Emperor himself?  
  
Galen Erso could have been told the same things Joreth had. He could believe that the DS-1 was never to be used on civilians, that there would be nothing more than demonstrations on uninhabited rocks. He might even have been fine with believing that it would never be turned on an inhabited world unless that world declared itself an enemy. He could have been lied to and misled. If Joreth Sward, one of the Empire's finest intelligence operatives, could not see what would come, could a _scientist_?  
  
He lowered the weapon slightly and blinked in the rain. The Rebels called it a planet killer. That was a better name than DS-1. DS-1 was cold and clinical and ambiguous. _Planet killer_ left no questions. It was hard to ignore _planet killer_.  
  
The Empire built a planet killer. It used the planet killer to wipe out an inhabited moon. It would use it again. Someone had to do something.  
  
The gun came back up.   
  
He still had the shot. There was some sort of conversation going on below between Galen Erso and Director Krennic, but Erso was still out in the open. There would be no secondary casualties.  
  
His finger hovered over the trigger. _This is the only thing I can do...._  
  
Except killing Galen Erso wasn't going to prevent the Empire from using what Erso had built them to destroy another world. Killing Galen Erso wasn't going to save a single life. It didn't matter if Erso was a traitor to the Empire or a traitor to sentient life. Killing him wouldn't change a damn thing.  
_  
“He's rigged a trap inside it,”_ Jyn's desperate voice implored. _“If you can blow the reactor....”_  
  
Joreth was smart, but he wasn't an engineer. He could not begin to guess where or how to attack a trap inside a superweapon. If it was true – and, damn him, he was starting to believe that it was, because...well, why not? Everything else had been. But if it was, then Galen Erso would be able to tell people _exactly_ how to destroy the DS-1. There would be people – good people, people who were loyal to the ideals of service, to protecting others – there would be people who would be willing to _do something_.  
  
Galen Erso knew what the Empire intended. He'd known and he'd tried to stop it the only way he knew how.  
  
The gun wavered. The scope slipped out of alignment.  
  
Killing Galen Erso wouldn't allow anyone to go back in time and stop Jedha from happening. It wouldn't prevent the next Jedha, either. The DS-1 was operational. To prevent the next Jedha, Joreth Sward needed Galen Erso.  
_  
Is this treason?_ He wasn't sure. No. No, it couldn't be. They had to be acting on their own, without the blessing of the Empire. Krennic and Tarkin and whoever else was involved in firing the DS-1....  
  
The Emperor?  
  
It didn't matter. In the end, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that the DS-1 was never used again.   
  
Joreth felt himself drop his weapon. He became aware, for the first time, that his breathing was ragged. He was trembling. The rain was still soaking him, but he was only now starting to feel it again.  
  
A plan. A plan. He needed a plan. There wasn't much he could do here and now. He was on a ridge above the installation.   
_  
“We're hoping that Saw will help us locate your father,”_ Mothma was saying to Jyn in his mind, _“And return him to the Senate for testimony.”_   
  
That...well, it seemed ridiculous when he first heard it, but he was starting to think that might work. Exposing what had happened to the people. Encouraging destruction of the weapon due to public pressure. Removing the men responsible from their positions. Maybe even placing some sorts of checks on the Emperor himself. There were things that could be done to make sure there was never another Jedha.  
  
He'd need to extract Erso, then. He fumbled for his quadnocs again and returned his attention to the platform. There were dozens of people who would, for all intents and purposes, prevent him from extracting Erso. He didn't want to kill soldiers or scientists if he didn't have to. No. Best to watch. Watch, learn, and wait for the opportune moment.  
  
And so he watched. He watched as the Death Troopers turned their weapons on their own people, mowing them down without question. Killing Erso, he could have rationalized. Even if he wasn't taking the shot, under Imperial law at least, the Director was within his rights to call for the execution of a traitor. But the scientists and engineers were innocent. There was no reason to kill them other than a show of power. On the platform, the Director now confronted Erso. Joreth could do nothing but watch and ask how many times something like this had played out before.  
  
The Death Troopers had not even hesitated.  
  
Had the men and women on the Death Star hesitated? They had to know what was going to happen. They had to know loyal Imperials would die. No one hesitated. No one questioned. They just...followed orders.  
  
Was he any different? Joreth remembered, during his first year as a cadet, asking an instructor after a session what he should do if he was ever unsure about an order. She had looked at him with cool, blue eyes and said _“You do as you're told. The people giving the orders are smarter than you, Sward. They know things you don't know. You do as you're told.”_  
  
Except he knew the people on Jedha, most of them at least, committed no crime against the Empire. He knew the engineers and scientists were innocent. He had done the investigation into the Eadu leak himself. There was no reason for punishment for disloyalty, treachery, or treason. There were just expendable lives who better served the Empire to die so that the population would fall in line. Fall in line, his superiors whispered, or you'll be next.  
  
He was deluding himself if he thought there could be any valid reason for what happened on Jedha. The evidence was damning.   
  
If Erso survived these next few moments on the platform, Joreth would extract him. All those years of training and service would not be wasted. The Empire had prepared him to do these things. He was one of the best for a reason. He would extract Erso and take the man to the Senate for testimony himself. Not to the Alliance, who would kill him, or to his superiors in the bowels of some station where prisoners entered and never returned, but to the people. Let the people hear what their Empire had done. Let the people learn how to stop it.  
  
He raised the quadnocs once more, trying to memorize everything he could. Any minor detail could later turn out to be important. Movement attracted his gaze and he felt something cold pool in his stomach.  
  
Jyn Erso was on the platform.  
  
Jyn Erso was on the platform and then K-2SO was on the com reporting that an Alliance fighter squadron had been deployed, and then a snubfighter soared overhead. All his careful plotting fled from his mind.  
  
He had to save Jyn.  
  
~*~

What fresh hell is this? _Above him, ventilation hatches whirl open and closed. Part of his brain points out that this should not be happening, since the power to the vault is out. Another part argues that the top of the tower must be on a different grid. A louder part clears its throat and wonders how his broken body has any hope of making it into that shaft without being crushed.  
_

_It's doable, he rationalizes as he counts the seconds between open and closed. Jyn's mangled body is not stuck to any of the mechanisms. He did not see her fall. She must have been able to do it. If she did it....  
  
If she did it, she did it with two good legs.  
  
If she did it, she did it with a back that was not on fire.  
  
If she did it, she did it without pain trying to destroy every movement.  
  
If she did it, she did it because she knew she had to. Jyn, he understands, believes he is dead. She has more reason to carry on than him. She believes she is the last one left, that success and failure are now fully on her shoulders.  
  
That's probably accurate. He cannot think of one thing that he could aid with. He is useless in the fight now. The only thing propelling him on is his stupid desire to know it isn't for nothing, to have peace when he lays down and shuts his eyes that final time.  
  
His muscles tense and he _ pushes _. For a moment that feels so very long, his body hangs in the air, then his hands slam against opposing sides of the shaft. His legs follow to brace himself. A scream tries to wrench its way out of his mouth before dying in his throat. Not here. Not now. He is still on a mission, and he cannot afford sound. Even as his brain concentrates on suppressing this noise, his limbs propel him up, up, up towards the daylight that is both so close and so far away._  
  
~*~  
  
He was needed in the Council meeting. Judging by the blinking chrono on his desk, he only had a half hour before it began.  
  
He had no idea what he was going to do.  
  
Ultimately, he knew the Council would never approve any sort of attack on an Imperial base to retrieve the plans. There was already a ridiculous amount of in-fighting among the various factions. They wouldn't approve anything – not without more proof. He had none to give them. Even if he exposed himself and reported on what he knew, it would never be enough. He couldn't prove there was a weakness. He had nothing but the word of a criminal whose opinions were anything but neutral.   
  
He believed her. For some strange reason, he did believe her.   
  
The Rebels never would.  
  
Joreth ran his hands through his hair and forced himself to think. He was supposed to be a genius, one of the Empire's best and brightest intelligence officers. There had to be something he was missing, some crucial detail that-  
  
The door whispered open. His head jerked up towards the sound and he felt his brow wrinkle. “Jyn?”  
  
She stood in the doorway as if unsure whether to enter. How she had even found his quarters was a mystery. Joreth felt himself begin cataloging, taking in the details from the rigid hold of her frame, to how the keeper strap of her holster was unsnapped and how her hand grazed against the weapon. Another confrontation about her father then. Part of him wanted to snap at her that there were bigger problems than her grief. Another part selfishly hoped she would put him out of his misery. He let his eyes meet hers and waited.  
  
She stepped inside a moment later. The door slid shut behind her with a woosh of air. “I know what you are.” Her voice trembled. She hid it well, and to an ordinary listener, she may have sounded sure of herself, but he'd been trained better, and it was there, hiding around the edges.  
  
For a heartbeat, the old fear of being discovered pierced at his gut before he found the more pragmatic answer. Jyn thought he was a murderer, a monster...hadn't she called him a stormtrooper? She both knew and did not know the truth. Joreth forced himself not to move. “Yes, I was there when you shared your opinions of me with the others.”  
  
“You're an Imperial officer.” This statement was firmer, more confident.  
  
He continued to watch her silently. When he saw her hand move, he tensed, but Jyn merely pulled something from the pocket of her vest and tossed it to him. Out of habit, he caught it. A code cylinder. He let his eyes drift back to her.  
  
“I pulled the codes that were entered into the shuttle from take off to landing.” Jyn's chin jutted outward. Her eyes flashed with the same disgusted judgment she'd favored him with on the ship. “Thought they might be useful to someone like me.”  
  
She found the confirmation he'd sent back to Raxon. A chain of nothing numbers, hidden in the middle of a bit of nothing transmission.  
  
“I found your message,” she added in a tone that warned him not to even try to sell her a story. “I know what an Imperial encrypt looks like.” There was a pause before she added, “I know how to open them.”  
  
He ran his tongue over the roof of his mouth as his brain whirled. “You know a lot about Imperial codes.”  
  
“They've been looking for Jyn Erso for fifteen years,” Jyn offered by way of an explanation. It was enough.  
  
The irony wasn't lost on him. For years, he had operated deep within the Alliance. He worked with their best spies and analysts. They never identified him, but the petty thief figured him out in less than a week. She didn't even – how had she put it – have the luxury of political opinions? And yet, here she was. It did not get more political than this, and it wasn't hard to see which side Jyn Erso had landed on.  
  
He couldn't blame her for that. She did, after all, somehow manage to end up on the better one.  
  
“I see.” He finally spoke. “ And how do you intend to prove your theory?”  
  
“Shuttle computer.” Jyn replied evenly.  
  
“It's been wiped,” Joreth informed her. “They can't risk the Imperial Navy tracking the stolen ship.” He held up the code cylinder. “Even if this isn't your only copy, who is to say you didn't alter the data?”  
  
Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I do that?”  
  
“To get revenge on the man you blame for your father's death?” He tossed the cylinder back at her and was disappointed when she let it fall against the door, then clatter to the floor. Joreth let his eyes drop back to her blaster. From this distance, he'd never be able to get to her before she shot him. He'd seen how fast she could draw and shoot on Jedha. What had Kay said about the likelihood of her shooting him? Very high didn't begin to cover it. “If you're going to do it, I'd suggest getting on with it.”  
  
“Did the Alliance really tell you to kill my father?” Jyn asked. The blaster remained in the holster, but her fingers remained just above it.   
  
“Yes.” The truth was strangely simple. The Empire might not have been what he thought, but the Alliance was still exactly what he knew them to be.  
  
“Why?” Jyn asked.  
  
“They believed he was crucial to the continued development and implementation of Imperial weapons,” Joreth replied.  
  
“That's why you held your fire.” The statement was more to herself than to him.  
  
“No. The Empire also ordered me to exterminate him.” He kept his eyes on her face this time and watched for clues as to what she would do with the information.  
  
“I don't believe you.” The words came out too fast.  
  
“That's your decision,” Joreth kept his voice casual. “But your father was a traitor. Since I was already assigned by the Alliance to neutralize him, it was an easy decision for my superiors to allow me to handle things. They have no use for traitors.”  
  
“Handle things,” Jyn repeated. Cold anger layered over her voice. “You mean murder him.”  
  
“For someone who spent half her life in a terrorist cell,” Joreth observed, “You have quite a way with determining the crimes of others.” When he wasn't shot for calling her out, he added, “I held my fire because, if there was a way to stop that thing, he would know how to do it. It was pragmatism.”  
  
Jyn snorted. “You're a terrible liar.”  
  
“I do want to stop it, Jyn.” Joreth told her. “I never thought they would use it on a civilized world. It was supposed to be a propaganda tool to frighten violent extremists into surrender. It was supposed to end the war. I never thought...” He felt his hands slide through his hair again. “I never thought they'd use it on a civilized world,” he repeated. “We were supposed to be helping people, bringing peace. Not...”  
  
“This isn't the first horrible thing they've done.” Jyn's voice somehow managed to stay even. It occurred to Joreth that his instructors from all those years ago would be impressed.   
  
“And you've never put your faith in someone who promised you the galaxy,” Joreth countered, “Only to engage in horrible behavior? That was a marketplace of civilians your friend Gerrera was shooting up.”  
  
Jyn's shoulders hunched, but she didn't take the bait.   
  
“I didn't know,” he repeated. “I didn't know.” Neither of them spoke as Joreth risked another look at the blaster. Jyn's hand hadn't moved. “If you're going to shoot me,” he said quietly, “You'd best get on with it.”  
  
Jyn swallowed. Her chin bobbed forward again. Joreth waited for the draw and the rapid press of the trigger, as silence hung heavy in the room. Jyn stared him down, wearing an expression he'd never seen her wear. For once, she did not look like an animal measuring danger and or watching prey. Her eyes held the cold certainty he'd worn in his own time and time again. It was the expression of someone who would do what they needed to, regardless of their personal stake in the matter. “I'm not going to shoot you.”  
  
Something that _could_ have been hope, in another lifetime, fluttered against his ribs. “Because you believe me.”  
  
Jyn's eyes managed to harden further. “No. Because I'm not like you.”  
  
“A murderer?” He asked.  
  
“A monster.” She bit out. There was another long beat of silence before she spoke once more. “But I am going to tell them what you are.”  
  
It was his turn to snort. “They're never gonna believe you.”  
  
“I'll make them believe.” Jyn's voice held conviction.  
  
“You are a criminal and a deserter,” Joreth pointed out coolly. “I am an officer with over a decade of loyal service. Who do you think they're gonna side with?” He stood.  
  
Jyn 's fingers curled around the hilt of the weapon as her eyes flashed a warning.   
  
Joreth froze. He forced his fingers to relax and his empty hands to stay where she could see them. “You only have once chance to convince them that your recollection of a missing message is accurate and true. If you go in there spouting off about me being an Imperial spy, you will lose what little credibility you might have.”  
  
“I have the truth.” Her voice was still maddeningly solid.  
  
“They. Won't. Care.”  
  
Jyn's eyes shone with warning. Her spare hand reached out to trigger the touch pad. The door slid open behind her and she stumbled backward into the hall. Even as Joreth waited for that one last blast, she slapped at the opposing panel.   
  
Her gaze held his, deadly and cold, as the metal barrier closed between them.  
  
~*~  
  
The Council would never believe Jyn Erso. They would look at her and see what Joreth had seen – a deserter, a criminal, a violent, selfish woman with no care for anyone or anything other than herself. She was the daughter of an Imperial scientist. She was compromised. She was not to be trusted.  
  
The Council did not know Jyn Erso. They did not know how she would put her life between others and danger. They did not know how she could burn with a righteous passion. They did not know how she could look at a man and see what he was. He did, though. Joreth Sward knew Jyn Erso – or knew enough of Jyn Erso – to know she was telling the truth. The flaw was real. The DS-1 could be stopped.  
  
Maybe the Council would never believe Jyn Erso, but they didn't have to. _He_ believed Jyn Erso. He believed her and there were enough Rebels who believed and respected Cassian Andor to follow her if he asked them to.  
  
Joreth knew he should feel terribly guilty or conflicted about what he was planning to do. He also knew that he felt neither. He might not like the Rebels – he might find them terrible and dangerous – but right now, these Rebels were what he needed to stop a greater tragedy. How did it go? The enemy of my enemy.... What mattered was that they were willing to help him stop the DS-1.   
  
He also knew that this could horribly backfire. Jyn could call him out and expose him to the others. While the Rebels he recruited would believe him if he denied it, the others – the Guardians and the pilot – would do whatever Jyn asked of them. He'd seen the Guardians fight. He'd seen Jyn fight. He didn't want to think of what might happen if....  
  
It was a necessary risk. He might not need the Guardians to stop the DS-1, but something told him he needed Jyn Erso. Her new friends came as part of the package. Hopefully, she was smart enough to see him and his friends were also necessary if they had a chance of really doing this.  
  
Still, Joreth watched. He watched as Jyn warily sized him up from the place where she'd positioned herself between him and her friends. He watched how she squared her shoulders, even as her eyes gave away that she didn't want a fight. It didn't matter if she wanted it. If she thought her friends were in any danger from him, she'd take the fight.  
  
There wasn't going to be one. At least, he hoped there wouldn't be one. That, ultimately, depended on Jyn Erso, not on him. “We'd like to volunteer.” He sounded far more confident than he felt, standing in front of her with his newly recruited army.

It was obvious that Jyn did not trust him. He couldn't fault her in that. He'd done nothing since they met but lie to her, use her, and try to manipulate her. He was an Imperial spy turned...well, he wasn't a Rebel now, not really. He didn't agree with the Alliance's tactics. But he wasn't a loyal Imperial, either.   
  
And he did want to volunteer. If she was going to do this – and he could take one look at her and know she was – then he wanted to help.  
  
So he told her why. He told her how he'd done terrible things, because he had. He told her what he was, what he'd been. A spy. A saboteur. An assassin. A man who told himself he had to do these things for a cause he believed in, even as he cut away more and more of himself. He wasn't sure Jyn understood. He wasn't sure if she could understand. But it needed to be said – for him, for the soldiers behind him who, even though they'd spent the last decade on opposite sides of the war, were on the same side of the glass. Every terrible thing had been for a cause they believed in. If the DS-1 – no, the _Death Star_ – if the Death Star was used on more civilians, on more inhabited planets.... “Everything we've done would have been for nothing.” Joreth finished. “I couldn't face myself if I gave up now.”  
  
~*~  
  
Twenty minutes. It only took twenty minutes to go from tentative stand-off to tentative truce to gear packed, weapons stowed, and soldiers boarding the stolen shuttle. Joreth watched as the Rebel troops – _his_ troops, well, his and Jyn's – followed out his orders to prepare for the unknown. If he'd had the time, he would have mused on the irony of it all. Joreth Sward recruiting an army of terrorist fighters for a criminal to lead in an insane infiltration mission to steal the Empire's greatest secret.  
  
A hand brushed against his sleeve. Jyn. She hadn't spoken since they all began to gear up other than to offer some encouragement to the Guardians and the pilot. She didn't seem to be calculating the odds of him betraying her, though. That was more than he deserved. “I think we're ready.”  
  
His eyes met hers for a brief second.  “Yes,” he agreed, studiously returning his attention to watching the last of the troops stop to talk with Jyn's allies in front of the ramp. “We are.”  
  
“Have you ever been to Scarif?” The question was straightforward. The questions underneath it were obvious.  
  
“No. Scarif is the sort of place where people with connections to serve. Quiet, dull, and far away from any real risk. It wasn't the sort of place someone like me ever needed to visit.” He forced himself to look back at her. “It should follow a standard format. The Empire likes standardization. These types of installations are all more or less the same with a few minor deviations to adjust them to the environment.” When Jyn remained quiet, it was his turn to touch her sleeve and get her attention. “Jyn.  We'll find the plans.”  
  
She nodded at him and glanced back at her friends once more. After a long moment, she returned her attention to him. “We need to go.”  
  
They did. It was time. Everything was loaded. Dallying would only increase the risk that the Alliance would catch on to what they were doing and try to stop them. Time was a luxury that they could no longer afford. He felt himself stop Jyn as she turned away, even as he knew it was foolish. His hand didn't listen to reason, though, and caught the edge of her sleeve again. Joreth watched Jyn's eyes flick up to him. “Do they know?” His voice was soft as he inclined his head towards the Guardians and the pilot.  
  
Jyn shook her head once.  
  
It wasn't the answer he was expecting. “Are you going to tell them?”  
  
“If I tell them,” her voice was a soft as his, “They're never going to trust you.”  
  
That was probably true. If he was in their shoes, he wouldn't trust him, either. They'd likely think he was leading them into a trap – some sort of grand scheme to finish off the Rebellion once and for all. “But you do.”  
  
Jyn's eyes met his and held them for a long moment. Finally, she said, “I saw you after Jedha. No one could fake that.”  
  
He didn't trust himself to speak. Part of him knew that Jyn had an angle. She needed him for this mission to be a success. The small army he'd recruited would stay or leave with him. He knew how to navigate Imperial installations while she did not. It would make perfect sense for Jyn to play him the way he'd played countless people before. Joreth told himself that was fine. It didn't matter if Jyn allowed him to participate because she needed him to accomplish her goal. He was still there.  
  
Jyn was still looking at him, and Joreth realized he was looking back. She broke the thick silence between them. “I trust you.”   
  
Somehow, he believed her. It was the sort of moment when he should tell her something to prove he trusted her, too, some way to prove he would not betray her on this. Words, however, failed him, and he found himself simply standing before her, watching and waiting. Jyn's eyes darted towards the shuttle across the hangar. “Everyone's ready.”  
  
“We need to go,” he agreed.  
  
Neither of them moved.  
  
“Whatever,” he finally found words. “Whatever happens, I'm not going to-” They were not good words. He tried again. “I'm with you, Jyn.”  
  
She looked at him one last time, before nodding slightly, almost as if to herself. “We need to go.”  
  
~*~  
  
_“I'm Jyn Erso,” Jyn's voice says, and, as he pulls himself inch by painful inch from the opening at the top of the citadel, he glimpses her. She's standing at the edge of a walkway, while Orson Krennic trains a blaster on her. “Daughter of Galen and Lyra.”  
  
Joreth has seen many things in his life, but he's never seen anything quite like Jyn Erso. He knows she's bluffing as she stares Krennic down. He knows her tells by now to recognize them. Yet she's standing there, announcing to Krennic that she's sent the plans to the Rebellion's fleet with the sort of conviction that would make anyone second guess their doubts in her story. And Krennic's response, the angry biting way the words come out of his mouth, betrays his doubts.  
  
Joreth pulls himself the rest of the way to his feet. He feels himself stumble, his legs unable to hold his weight, and lets his body rest against a large cement support structure. Even as Krennic rages at Jyn, his hand fumbles, then closes around the blaster strapped to his hip. He feels his arm raise the weapon as he braces himself and lines up the shot. His concentration narrows to his target.  His finger tightens around the trigger.  
  
He misses. For the first time in years, he misses and the shot goes just a bit too far to the right, hitting Krennic in the shoulder. It's enough, though, to send the man hurtling to the ground and Jyn springing forward towards the console. _  
  
~*~  
  
She calls him 'Cassian' until they're in the lift and he's leaning against the wall trying not to think – of the fact he's dying, of the fact she's there, of the fact that he really should be more upset about how he just shot a superior officer in order to aid the enemy but isn't.   
  
It's only now, after the plans, after Krennic, after hoping someone is listening, that she asks, “What's your real name?”  
  
He looks at her silently as he debates how to answer. Names have power. Jyn, he knows, has long understood the name _Erso_ marked her as someone more valuable as a hostage than a human. He chose his Rebel name because it meant empty, and he'd always considered that an apt description of the type of mind one might need to join the Rebellion. “Real,” he finally says, “Is a relative term.”  
  
Jyn's expression is one that speaks of pity. He can't see what reason she would have to pity him. Jyn is well aware of how the game is played. The light shifts – in and out, in and out – casting shadows on her face. “I always,” she says quietly, “Hated Liana, but even Liana was better than Jyn. Today was the first day I didn't hate being Jyn.”  
  
This conversation makes little sense to him, though he is not sure how much of it is the actual conversation and how much of it is his body shutting down. He suspects it is more the latter. Death, though, seems to have the unintended effect of pulling thoughts from him he might not otherwise acknowledge, and he hears himself say, “Joreth Sward.”  
  
Jyn repeats the name, and he hates how it sounds on her tongue - cold, foreign, _Imperial_.  
  
“But I think,” he continues, “I prefer 'Cassian.'” And, strangely, he does. It isn't that Cassian was a better man than Joreth – they are, for better or worse, both him. And it isn't that he is so accustomed to hearing the name 'Cassian' used to refer to him that it is easier to think of himself that way. He had always considered the name part of the mask he wore. He just...likes it. It's strangely hopeful, all that emptiness, and he thinks that, in another life, that emptiness could have been slowly filled with things that mattered.  Friendship.  Family.  Love.  Hindsight is strange that way. Something he once selected for negative connotations representing what _could have been_ or, maybe, in some parallel universe, what _could still be_.  
  
He catches Jyn watching him. He shifts his weight to watch her back, and his leg gives out. He doesn't fall far, though. Jyn is suddenly there, holding him up as he regains his footing. Even as he manages to stand again, she doesn't move away and he doesn't try to. He's dying. He's allowed this stupid moment of weakness observing someone who fascinates him.  
  
"Cassian?"  Jyn notices his attention and whispers, “Thank you.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“Trusting me.” She says it like it's the most obvious truth. Perhaps it is. He does trust her. It goes against everything he's been taught, all the rules he's written to ensure survival, but he trusts her. He could probably rationalize it away, but he decides to allow himself another foolish luxury. Besides, the damage is already done. She already knows who he is – what he is – and being able to put a name to it changes nothing.  
  
He's going to die, anyway. “Trust,” he repeats softly, “Goes both ways.”  
  
  
_~*~ fin ~*~  
  
  
_

**Author's Note:**

> In an early version of Rogue One, the character who eventually became Cassian was envisioned as an Imperial double agent who has a change of heart after he learns the Empire really is blowing up planets. I could not hear about that and then not write that story. Mine, however, does not involve any carbon freeze bombs.
> 
> One of the things I tried to do was keep key parts of Cassian's past intact, but show how those things could have been different. For this reason, his father is still killed when he's young, and he ends up in war as a kid. He starts military training at age 13 (according to the Rogue One Visual Guide, 13 is the minimum age cadets begin training). Although my information about Imperial schooling was taken from the Rogue One Visual Guide, I've since read Lost Stars, which aligns pretty closely with this whole scheme.
> 
> Joreth Sward was one of Cassian's aliases in canon. Since 'Cassian Andor' would be an alias in this world, I flipped the names around.
> 
> The incidents regarding Kay bringing Cassian to a safehouse and the incident on Jenoport are from the Rogue One novelization. Pages 136-137, because those were some life changing pages.
> 
> Cassian notes going to the Council Meeting. Although he's not shown in the meeting in the movie, he is present in the meeting in the novelization, leaving before Jyn speaks.
> 
> There are a lot of lines from the film and novel sprinkled in here. Most of them are presented in the same manner as in the original work. I did give some lines to other characters in this version as echoes. Jyn's line “No weapon has ever been left on the shelf” was spoken by her father as part of his message to her. Obviously “Trust goes both ways” is from the movie. Jyn repeating Cassian's “Rebellions are built on hope” in the film is intended to show her character development so I used a similar thing here with the "trust" line as the spy who has never known how to trust finds he really does trust this woman.
> 
> Whether Jyn and Cassian escape or die on the beach is up to your mind. My brain has an answer to that, but I've decided that my answer is going to remain in the “ye who shall never see the light of day” file.


End file.
